Free The Gingerbread Man by MAGGIE SHAYNE Page A

nodded. Then he realized he’d just answered the man’s initial question as to whether or not he’d accepted Holly’s invitation.
    “Not bad, Marty,” Vince said. “You’d have made a decent cop.”
    “I make a better uncle,” he replied. “You watch your step with Holly. I don’t want to see her hurt.” He gave a nod of good-bye, and walked down the steps to the path.
    “Don’t you worry, Uncle Marty,” Vince muttered as he watched the man vanish around the curve. “I like my women tough as nails with a hide like old leather. I don’t do fragile.”

    V INCE HAD SOME SERIOUS SHOPPING TO do on Saturday. Marty had arrived early, ready to install the new lock, just as Vince was heading out to run his errands, which gave Vince a chance to ask him about the vacant phone jack in the bedroom wall. He learned that a call to the local telephone company and payment in advance could turn it on, giving him two lines to work with. He folded up his laptop, pocketed his cell phone, and headed out.
    He drove all the way back to the city. It took longer than he’d hoped it would, to pick up supplies at home, and find most of what he needed at the retail outlets. He then met Jerry for a quick lunch and an even quicker conversation.
    Jerry nodded toward Vince’s Jeep beyond their booth window. Boxes stacked in the back showed through the tinted glass. “Been shopping?”
    “Yeah. Gave the old plastic a workout this morning.”
    “So, what’s the connection you’re onto, buddy?”
    Vince shook his head. “Can’t tell you that. Not yet, anyway. Did you get what I asked you for?”
    “Yeah. And it’s damned interesting, Vince.” He slid a fat manila envelope across the table, and Vince picked it up. But before he could ask what was inside, a uniformed cop walked through the door.
    Vince took the envelope and slid out of the booth. He was supposed to be on vacation. If anyone saw him in town, much less meeting with his partner and exchanging large envelopes, questions would surely come up. And Jerry could get into as much trouble as Vince.
    Jerry started to get up, too, but Vince held up a hand. He’d just slip out alone while the cop’s back was to him.
    Jerry understood, and gave a nod. “Be careful, buddy. And call if you need me.”
    “I will.”
    Vince walked out of the diner with the envelope under his arm, got into his Jeep, and headed back to Dilmun. He glanced at his watch and knew he was going to be late.

    HOLLY PACED AS MORE AND MORE OF THE locals gathered, and she tried to keep her gaze from drifting toward Vince O’Mally’s cabin. She wasn’t having much success. His Jeep had been gone most of the day. Maybe he’d decided that whatever he’d come looking for wasn’t here. Maybe he’d gone back to Syracuse for good.
    “It’s early yet, hon.” Her mother’s hand curled over Holly’s shoulder with a reassuring squeeze. “He’ll be here.”
    “Who?” Holly pasted an unconcerned expression on her face. She couldn’t very well tell her mother she half hoped the man was gone for good. Or that the other half only wanted to see him tonight, to try to find out what he was really after.
    Doris just shook her head and moved away, toward the heap of deadwood that had been piled up for the bonfire. Around the pile, in a concentric circle, people milled. Picnic tables littered the area, and the early arrivals claimed them. Others spread blankets on the ground, or unfolded lawn chairs. Off to the left, on the round pavilion, a local band set up their instruments. Farther from the woodpile, some of the locals were erecting dome tents, planning to make a full night of it.
    Already the sun was drooping low beyond the hills out past the lake. It had been a nicer day today than yesterday. Chilly and breezy, but dry. The sky was dusky now, violet and pink as the sun sank lower, and the wind stirred the water with its breath.
    And still not one sign of life from O’Mally’s cabin.
    “You looking for